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Sunday, May 31, 2009

Falling Walls

beneath this ceiling, where
stars hung low in our nights
of glowing to take up part
of a burning ceremony,

where conquered bodies,
like so many falling walls,
gave way to the trumpet
of a victorious Jericho,

there is a breeze that sings
against these bedroom walls
of knowing that you were
this life's inheritance to me,

which I foolishly spent
on restless shadows that
now refuse to lie still
without dying in your glow.

I try to scrub these walls
once refracted with so
much of our light
and fearless impetuosity,

but memories are all I see
hanging onto the starkness,
pitifully eyeing me
in my internal flow,

they tell me that love
will not die even if
you bury it in soil
or a wounded pride's sea,

fallen walls rebuilt now,
more than before,
imprisoning hands
with nowhere to go.

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